Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Zoe
So much for rejecting Max’s invitation. The guy is insistent. After two days of him bringing dinner to my office, I realized he wouldn’t give up. There’s something to be said about a man who won’t take no for an answer when he’s trying to be charming—except when you’re trying to get rid of a telemarketer.
As we step into the bustling restaurant, the atmosphere envelops us. The air is thick with the aroma of gourmet dishes, jazz music, and the soft buzz of conversation. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegant dining room, where patrons in evening wear sip wine and lean in close over candlelit tables.
Despite the crowd of people waiting, their faces a mix of impatience and hunger, the ma?tre d’ greets us with a polished smile. With a graceful gesture, he sweeps aside his tablet and steps out from behind his podium.
“Mr. McCallister,” he says with some sort of respect—or maybe even fear. Then he glances at me and gives me a bright smile. “Miss Harper, welcome to Beacon’s Table. Your table is ready. Please, follow me.”
Murmurs ripple through the waiting crowd as we pass the area. Max’s hand finds mine, his grip warm and secure. He leads the way, his confident stride and broad shoulders parting the sea of people like a ship’s prow through water. I follow in his wake, acutely aware of the eyes upon us.
We’re guided through the main dining area, where the gentle notes of a jazz quartet mingle with the clink of fine china and crystal. As we weave between tables, I catch glimpses of sumptuous dishes and hear snatches of animated conversation.
Max’s hand remains firmly clasped around mine, as if he’s afraid I might slip away in the crowd. This place is the epitome of luxury—high ceilings with intricate moldings, walls adorned with tasteful art, and an air of exclusivity that makes me feel both thrilled and slightly out of place.
We reach our table, a cozy nook by the window that offers a stunning view of the city lights twinkling in the distance. The table is set with crisp white linens, gleaming silverware, and a single purple rose in a slender vase. Max steps ahead, pulling out my chair with a flourish.
“Madame,” he says with a playful wink, gesturing for me to sit.
I settle into the plush seat, feeling a warmth spread through me at his gentlemanly gesture. As Max takes his seat across from me, his eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
Sure, he told me to dress fancy because he had scored us a table at one of the finest places in Beacon Hill, but this is just a nice dinner with a friend, right?
“You look absolutely radiant tonight, Zoe,” he says softly, his gaze never leaving mine.
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at his compliment. “So glad that you agreed to take the evening off from work—or your family’s nonsense.” Max leans in slightly, his voice low and reassuring.
“Of course, I can’t say no to a free fancy dinner with a friend ,” I remark, making sure I’m not misreading him or the situation.
His eyebrow cocks in confusion, but then the ma?tre d’ hands us two menus. “Your wine list should be here shortly, but you can check the entrées.” He nods toward the elegantly bound leather folder. “Every item can be modified according to your dietary restrictions. The chef is ensuring there’s no cross-contamination in the kitchen, as per Mr. McCallister’s request.”
I glance at Max, a wave of admiration washing over me. This level of consideration is something I’m not used to. With Tom, I’d always play it safe—grilled chicken and steamed veggies—while he indulged in more exciting fare. That’s been the story of my life: bland food and people assuming I’m just as boring. They take the whole “you are what you eat” thing far too seriously when it comes to me.
But here, with Max, it’s different. He’s taken the time to ensure I can enjoy the meal without worry, and it touches me deeply.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting his gaze. He shrugs it off as if it’s nothing, but the gesture means the world to me.
“Of course, Zoe. I want you to enjoy this evening as much as I do,” he replies, his eyes warm and sincere.
“You’re sure I can order anything and it’ll be safe?” I ask hesitantly. Part of me still expects the waiter to return with bad news, apologetically informing us that all the chef can manage is boiled green beans.
Max leans in, his eyes twinkling with a mix of flirtation and seriousness. “One of these days, you’ll learn to trust me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and warm.
“My questions are valid,” I argue, unable to let go of my doubts so easily.
“You excel at interrogation.” He groans and rolls his eyes. “And yet, I hate people questioning me.”
I shrug and smile, as if to say, ‘what can you do, it’s my nature. ’
“Can you try to enjoy yourself?” he asks, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Just for tonight?”
“This place is incredible, but pricey,” I say, my voice sounding breathier than I intended. “I’m not sure if they’ll really accommodate me.”
His expression softens, a determined yet loving look crossing his face. “They will, because you have the right to experience a great meal just like anyone else,” he says, reaching across the table to gently squeeze my hand.
I feel a rush of warmth wash over me. “Thank you for this,” I say, my eyes meeting his before dropping to the menu.
Max winks at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Just the best for you, Zoe. So what is it going to be?”
As I scan the options, a dish catches my eye. “I’ll have the pan-seared sea bass with saffron risotto and roasted asparagus.”
“Any appetizers?” he asks and suddenly, our server appears almost magically at our side, presenting the drinks menu with a flourish. “Chef Devereaux has created a special list of wine and spirits for the occasion. All the wines are sulfite-free, in case our guests have any dietary restrictions,” he says with a professional smile.
I appreciate the thoughtfulness as I glance at the menu, but before we can decide, another server arrives, setting a tray of appetizers on our table with practiced grace.
He gestures to each dish in turn. “Chef Devereaux sent these starters. They’re on the house. We have cucumber and dill canapés, caprese skewers with heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, and tuna tartare with avocado. The wontons are gluten-free.”
Max and I exchange appreciative glances before the waiter asks, “What can I get you to drink this evening?”
“I’ll have a tequila chilled, please,” I say, wondering if they can make a margarita that’s not too sweet and uses sugar cane in the simple syrup.
Is this what it’ll be when I start dating again? I’ll have to research places where they can accommodate me or maybe just say no to dinners until I’m comfortable enough to explain that I have dietary restrictions. Maybe that’s why I stayed with Tom for so long. He was okay with me labeling my food, and we each cooked our meals separately unless he liked what I was preparing. Then we’d share.
Max’s voice pulls me out of my trance when he says, “Lagavulin on the rocks.”
The waiter disappears swiftly, leaving us with the tantalizing appetizers.
I savor a caprese skewer. “This place is incredible. How did you manage to get a reservation?”
Max chuckles, leaning back. “I have my ways. Plus, it helps to know people.”
I roll my eyes but smile. “Do you set up their security and charge by the meal instead of the hour?”
He laughs so loud that a nearby couple glares at us. “You’re funny, Harper.”
“I can be charming when I’m not lawyering,” I agree. “Honestly, I appreciate this. You didn’t need to go all out. I would’ve been okay with a sandwich at your house.”
“Really?” Max looks surprised.
“Sure, it’d be an evening escaping work, and I won’t have to deal with Dad watching loud news, Mom complaining, and talking about it on the phone with my grandmother or one of her friends.” I sigh, but then laugh at my beloved but draining parents.
“Sounds . . . like my family,” he says sympathetically. “I’m glad I get to make tonight special. You’ve had a rough time lately, and you deserve a break.”
I look down at the appetizers, uncomfortable with his concern. I’m used to solving others’ problems, not being cared for. “Thank you, Max. I really appreciate it.”
He reaches across the table, lightly touching my hand. “Anytime, Zoe. One of these days, I might take you home so I can prepare you a sandwich.”
“Gluten-free bread,” I add as an afterthought.
“Obviously.” He winks at me. “So, have you found an apartment while you wait for your brownstone?”
“No. I . . .” I trail off. “It’s complicated.”
“Looking for an apartment is complicated?” He furrows his brow, confused.
“Yeah. No. It could be nine months to a year before I can move back in. And what if I just stay with my parents and save money for whatever is next?” I sigh, grabbing one of the skewers. “I have to admit, I’ve been feeling pretty lost. I’m not sure what I want from life right now. ”
Max nods, his eyes serious. “That’s normal. But you can’t let fear stop you from living.”
“I am living,” I say, a little defensive.
“Really? Because it sounds like you’ve been going from work to your parents,” he calls out my bullshit.
“I go to Lily’s place,” I argue.
“Wow, you go to your little sister’s place. You party animal, you. I’m . . . impressed.”
I glare at him. “I don’t think I’m ready to explore anything right now. The unknown seems a bit . . .” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
“Sometimes, the best experiences come from stepping into the unknown,” Max offers.
Unknown? I don’t know if I have time for that. I’ve given so many things and people chances, and now I’m back at square one.
“Lately . . .” I start. “I’ve been feeling stuck, like I’m just going through the motions. Maybe the problem wasn’t only my relationship with Tom.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes, you need to shake things up to find out what you really want.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. “You make it sound so easy. Just shake things up, right? But what if I don’t know how to do that? What if I don’t even know what I want to shake up?”
He leans forward, his gaze intense. “You start by trying new things. Stepping out of your comfort zone, even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you.”
I swallow, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I’m not like that, Max. I can’t just dive into the unknown . I need a plan, a sense of direction. ”
He smiles gently, reaching across the table to take my hand. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Zoe. Sometimes, the best things in life come when you least expect them. You just have to be open to the possibility—like Lily did when she went backpacking looking for herself.”
“Um, she wasn’t backpacking, and it was more like . . .” I trail off again, suddenly grasping what he’s saying. She stepped out of her comfort zone to search for the one thing she wanted.
But what do I want?
I think for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Travel to places that are . . . different. Not your typical Paris, Rome, and touristy spots. Or maybe go there but really see the country from the locals’ perspective. Just have dinner with a stranger because it feels right or . . . I don’t know, be a lot more carefree.”
Max nods thoughtfully. “That sounds amazing. And you know, you don’t have to make all these changes alone. We could do this together.”
I blink, surprised. “Together? You mean, like travel buddies? Life explorers? You know what you want from life, why join me?”
“Yeah, but I do like a good adventure,” he says, leaning back with a grin. “Plus, not sure if you’ve noticed, but my best friends are in a weird place in their lives.”
“Weird?”
“In love, married—organizing weddings.” He lets out a loud groan. “Everything that’s boring.”
“What about Caleb? ”
He shrugs. “The guy lives between San Diego and here, it’s hard to know if we’ll do something over the weekend or not. With you, I’ll know there’ll be a plan to be carefree.”
I laugh at the contradiction. He doesn’t believe I can do things without a schedule. I can show him it’s possible—even if it scares me.
“What if we just take it day by day, no pressure, no expectations?” he offers, as if he’s negotiating and about to lose some kind of deal. “We’ll see where things go.”
“Are you offering me a friendship, McCallister?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, we’ll be friends who explore some of that carefree living you’re talking about.”
I stare at him, processing his suggestion. It’s not what I expected, but there’s something oddly appealing about it.
That sounds like something I can get on board with. It’s simple. There are perks to having a friend outside of work—don’t have any of those—or my sister. I take a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. “That might be exactly what I need right now.”